


The Thaw

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Headquarters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year after Castiel’s fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thaw

  
The sky falls at the end of spring. Later, Castiel will remember noting the date down, for he supposes in a mournful kind of way that it is a kind of birthday. He wakes up outside in the now familiar scenery of Pontiac, Illinois, and finds himself back with the Winchesters three days later, on May 18th. He almost regrets this whole ordeal had not taken place _four months_ later, for a lyrical kind of symmetry with the first time he met Dean at the beginning of _his_ second life. But then he remembers he regrets this whole ordeal--and what a euphemism even that sounds like--had to happen at all. Whatever kind of symmetry he idly imagines, it could only have been an elegy.

It takes awhile for the weather to turn with the seasons, for if one were to measure by the amount of sun, summer doesn’t really start in earnest until the beginning of July. When the heaven descended in a fiery storm, it seems it brought with it weeks of rain. Perhaps the sky was too unused to being pierced like that, with all the holes in heaven leaking to the earth, or maybe it was nature’s way of mourning with them. Despite the calendar turning from May to June, the air remains damp and chilly. Castiel finds he kind of likes it.

His first weeks back at the bunker are tense to say the least. Sam still recovering from his abandoned trials and Castiel, well, _from everything_. From the set of his shoulders Castiel can see Dean is still angry, but he thinks he must be more tired than anything. Still, when they arrive home that first day he offers Castiel a fresh set of clothes to sleep in with a smile. “Guess you’re slumming it again,” he says, and then seems to shake himself. “Sorry, ah—” he begins to amend hastily, but Castiel holds the bundle of clothes to his chest and assures him it’s alright.

“It’s not really though, is it?” Dean points out. The bags beneath his eyes suggest he’s saying that for all of them.

Of course, Castiel can’t lie. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to anymore. “No, it’s not,” he admits, and is surprised to find it a _relief_ to say so.

He spends his first night fallen in the bedroom next to Dean’s. Sleep comes far faster than he’d expected, and mercifully, his dreams are few.

 

—

 

Life fully limited to the human form is a difficult adjustment, far more now even than it had been when he’d flirted with the experience a couple years ago. But Cas is resilient, and friends with whom he admires as far more so. The weight of his memory and all that he’s done is heavy, and all that has been done _to him_ looms like a malicious ghost in the back of his mind, taunting, but it’s lessened by Dean’s attempts at diversion.

They go shopping while they wait for Sam’s symptoms to alleviate, and Castiel finds he enjoys the experience. He enjoys perhaps even more choosing intentionally terrible or ill-fitting clothes and watching Dean’s reaction. He determines the tighter the fit, the more of a reaction he gets, the wider his eyes go and the slower words form on his tongue. Cas files that piece of knowledge away for later.

 

—

 

When the hot weather finally hits he buys a bag of lemons and makes lemonade, squeezing the juices out with his hands until they’re sticky all over. He makes it just this side of too-sugary but he discovers he likes it that way. Dean himself prefers his a bit bitter, but he still says it’s the the best lemonade he’s ever seen anyone make. He’s not lying—no one has ever made him lemonade before.

What Dean doesn’t say, but thinks as he watches Cas finish his glass, throat bobbing as he swallows, is that he likes to imagine the over-saturated sugars would make Cas’ mouth taste just as sweet.

They finish off the batch between them two fairly quickly. Castiel apologises and assures Dean that next time he will make more, so that Sam can try some too. What he doesn’t say is that next time he hopes he’ll have the courage to kiss Dean before the sweet citrus taste leaves his mouth.

 

—

 

At the end of August they make it to Charlie’s mid-year jubilee as promised. Until they pull up to the park site of the affair, Cas spends the whole drive with Dean and Sam being regaled with stories about Charlie Bradbury. Dean talks gleefully and fast, referencing what must be a thousand things, and most of which Castiel still doesn’t get, even with his intensifying pop cultural education. He doesn’t mind though, although he is still entirely bewildered by meeting Charlie in person, even after hours of preparation.

But luckily, despite not _really_ knowing the difference still between a cylon and a replicant, Charlie is immediately taken with him. “Dean, my man,” she says as she grabs Cas by the hand to take him into her tent and get him set up with a costume, “I’m temporarily demoting you from handmaiden to… chamber guard.”

Her eyes are as much alight with delight as Cas’ are with apprehension. “Keep watch while I undress your angel, will you?”

Dean’s face goes red enough to match the colour of his already donned tunic. He peaks through the slit of the tent flaps only when Castiel is fully dressed again, though now in hose and chainmail of his own. When Cas emerges from the tent with his Queen by his side, decked in medieval dress with Moondorian crest emblazoned on his chest, he observes, “Won’t we feel very hot in these costumes as the day wears on?” 

He squints up at the sun. “It’s not yet noon and already it can’t be less than 80° Fahrenheit.”

Dean already feels boiling for a very different reason. He croaks out a “Yeah,” as Charlie passes, clapping him on the back.

She grins. “ _You’re welcome.”_

 

—

 

When autumn comes Cas tries not to think of it as _fall_ _._  But as much as the idea of the season produces reticence, old leaves dying to be crumpled into soil come spring, autumn is not as full of the feeling of death as Castiel had expected. The leaves still fall but in their changing the colours are beautiful.

On a hunt in Vermont in October they drive along a highway lined with red-ridden trees, speckled with orange and yellow. Dean cranes his head around to glance at the back seat every now and then, every time to add to his growing image of Cas opening up a bed and breakfast. It started of as teasing when they hit the state and found the hunt in question actually _did_ involve interviewing the owner of one such B &B, who was charmed rather than confused by Cas' unique manner. A little put out that he'd failed to glean any substantial information himself, and perhaps a little jealous of the frankly flirtatious way Cas was soliciting the owner's attention, Dean began teasing that he fit right in.

"What about calling it _'The Hunting Lodge'_ , huh?" Dean grins into the rearview mirror. Castiel is starting to think Dean rather enjoys the plausibility of the fantasy  _more_ than the façade of mockery.

"If I were to open a bed and breakfast, perhaps it would do better in the bunker," Castiel suggests dryly. "We certainly have the room."

"What?" Dean visibly starts, unaware of Cas' teasing intention. "No, the bunker's secret! Do you think Batman just let _anyone_ into the batcave?"

"No, but maybe Wayne Manor would have felt less lonely if more people lived in it."

" _Wayne Manor_ \--?" Dean gapes. "Dude, have you been reading _Batman_?"

"Cas and I watched a couple of the Nolan movies last week when you were visiting Krissy," Sam supplies from the passenger seat.

As good a driver as Dean generally is, the impala jolts in the lane. "You watched _The Dark Knight_ without me?!" 

Dean shakes his head in admonishment, though a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Fucking _betrayed_ by my own family."

Though he's known it for awhile, Cas can't help but smile too that when Dean says "family," he's including Cas in it.

 

—

 

December begins with a disastrous hunt. Dean and Sam emerge relatively unscathed, only the usual small cuts and bruises, but Castiel sustains what has to be his worst mortal injury to date. Considering his company and chosen profession, it's maybe a miracle that he's lasted six months until a life threatening injury, or maybe it's just due to his prowess. Either way, winter starts with Cas bleeding out on the back seat of the impala, and after on Dean's bed, by being the virtue of being closest to the door. 

For his own part, Cas passes out pretty quickly. He wakes up with his torso wrapped with gauze and bandage, head spinning slightly. Dean, seated in his spot across from the bed, jolts awake at Cas' movement. 

As he gets up to fill a glass of water at the corner sink, he clears his throat. "You scared us for awhile there," he says, bringing the glass to Cas' bedside.

"Is this a service I should become used to?" Cas tries to joke, voice raspy and dry, as Dean props him up on a pillow against the headboard before sitting back, perched on the edge of the mattress.

"I have better moves to get you into bed," Dean scoffs, and then freezes when he realises what he just said. "I mean--"

Cas cuts him off. "Thank you," he says by way of saving Dean from embarrassment. He pauses to finish off the glass, and smiles wryly. "It seems I'm not up to dying yet."

" _Damn fucking right_ ," Dean says with force, taking back the now empty glass and placing it down on the side table. "You--" he shakes his head in frustration. "You really scared me, man."

"I'm sorry," Cas says, and he _is_. For a lot more than just this.

"Don't--don't be _sorry_ , god. It's not your fault a monster decides to maul you," Dean asserts grimly, clenching a fist in the sheets. "I lived through your death once. Just don't want to do it again so soon."

Cas' face softens, even through the thrumming pain in his stomach. "I promise, if it is in my power, I would not ask you to," he says with every bit of sincerity he can muster in his groggy state. It's _important_ that Dean understand this. 

Dean laughs hollowly as he bows his head. "Some things aren't always in our power though," he says with no small amount of bitterness.

"No," Castiel admits. They both know this sour fact more intimately than most. "But we can make the best of what _is_."

Maybe it's the nearly dying that's made him into a fool, or maybe he always was and only just learned to embrace it. Either way, he seems to have grown only more daring after very nearly greeting death, and coming to some kind of resolution, Cas crawls his hand across the sheets to find Dean's. When he finds it, he's both surprised and grateful to feel Dean immediately squeeze back.

 

—

 

"Maybe we should lie low for awhile," Dean suggests a few days into Cas' recovery, when he's well enough to walk around again without crumpling over after two steps.

"I'm not _fragile_ , Dean," Cas sighs with exasperation, half at Dean's ceaseless hovering and half at himself. "I may be mortal, but I'm not going to break."

"I know," Dean defends, though Cas can hear in his voice that the very real fear of losing Cas still lingers in his movement and thoughts. "But maybe we could use a break anyway. Besides, Christmas is soon."

"In _two weeks_."

Dean grins brightly. "Exactly, right around the corner!"

"You'd get very bored doing nothing 'til then," Cas feels compelled to point out.

"We could still do _stuff_. Just--" he shrugs. "Take it easy from hunting."

"What kind of stuff?"

His grin grows with mischief. " _Fun_ stuff."

Cas narrows his eyes. "I'm wary about your idea of fun."

"And I'm wary about your ability to _have_ it," Dean jokes back. "We all have to compromise, Cas."

It irks him to be thought of as not fit for hunting, but Cas can see by Dean's stance and the hopeful pleading in his eyes that this respite might be as much about _Dean_ than Cas himself. He can swallow his restlessness for now.

 

—

 

Apparently  _fun_ is far tamer than Cas feared, and mostly just comprises TV marathon after TV marathon, alternating between their own suggestions. Cas sits through every season of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , and he gets Dean to grudgingly agree to watch _Columbo_ and not grumble about _fucking cop shows_.

And it _is_ relaxing, at first. But soon the air becomes stifling again, as Dean's touch, having come far more freely after the other night, becomes tentative again, and Cas begins doubting himself. "Dean, this is..." he stops to say in the middle of an episode, searching for the right word. "Enjoyable. But I hope you're not straining yourself to please me"

Dean's face scrunches in confusion. "This is your first Christmas, dude, you deserve to he pleased."

"It's neither Christmas yet, nor will it be my first--"

"You know what I mean," Dean interjects.

Cas does, but he continues on as if Dean hadn't interrupted him. "--And you deserve to be pleased too."

Dean squirms a bit in his seat on the sofa. "I'm happy if you're happy." Of course, never asking things for himself.

"And I'm happy if you are," Cas smiles. "Which might prove a bit of a problem, if neither of us are doing what we really want to do."

He expects Dean to be angry with him for dismissing his "vacation" plans--as Dean called it to Sam--after initially agreeing to them. Perhaps he even _wants_ Dean to be angry, to feel the force of his fury like an electrifying flame. But Dean is always surprising him. Instead, he raises his gaze to contemplate him, eyes open but serious. "Well, what do you want, Cas?"

How on earth is he supposed to answer? _I want you to stop walking on eggshells around me,_ he wants to say. _I want you to stop blaming yourself for my problems_. _I want to forget everything that has happened_. _I want to remember every part_. _I want absolution_. _I want your forgiveness_. _I want to forgive_ myself.

He doesn't say any of those things. He doesn't say anything at all, but instead musters all that foolish fancy he'd newly discovered, and leans across the couch to take Dean's lips in a kiss. It's quick and brief, but it leaves Cas' heart beating, blood rushing through his body at a terrifying pace. He thinks, it feels a bit like falling, even though he's sitting down.

"That's--Yeah," Dean breathes out, eyes wide and caught off guard, until he searches Cas' and something seems to settle within him. He cups Cas' cheek in his palm, and kisses back. "Kinda wanted that too," he whispers as he leans his forehead against Cas', like it's the most astonishing secret ever kept. Cas can only think, face hot beneath Dean's fingers and a floating feeling bursting in his head, that it _is_. 

After abandoning the television, it turns out one might find any number of other activities to pass the time. 

 

—

 

In the first few months of Cas’ first year down here, he discovered that the roof of the bunker—or, well, the roof of the above-ground building housing the power generator for it—is accessible by a small staircase.

He comes to claim it as his private spot. From there, he can see the whole surrounding area, as their home in a hole in the ground sits at the top of a hill. He can see the roofs of the houses in the nearby town, and the forests beyond them. And here, sitting on the edge and high up above the world--although lower than he's been used to--Cas feels at peace.

On this particular evening, he can also feel Dean’s presence by his side before he can see him.

“Human measurements for time were always somewhat arbitrary to angels, we who had lived for millennia and would have for millennia more,” Cas says to break the silence, face sombre and contemplative. His hands are clasped together in his lap as he lets his legs dangle off the edge, face turned towards the wind. “But now I find I can’t help but think a these past few years are the most significant I’ve ever lived,” he adds, squinting off into the distance.

Unsure of what to say to so sincere a confession, Dean warily glances off the side of the building to see how far it is to the ground. It would be a long fall, although perhaps not as far as some.

“How long have you been up here?” he asks, unrolling the sleeves of his plaid over-shirt down from his elbows as the spring chill bites at his bare skin. He steadies himself with one hand on Cas’ shoulder to heave himself up to sit next to him on the ledge. He shivers at another gust of wind. “ _Fuck_ , aren’t you freezing?”

Cas smiles as Dean gets settled next to him, thigh pressing close to Cas’ own. “Not particularly,” he answers honestly, shrugging. “I like this weather.”

Dean doesn’t, but he likes Cas too much to complain further.

They don’t stay up there forever, both getting too hungry too fast to stay away from the kitchen downstairs any longer. So when Dean suggests, “Hey, what do you say to burgers for dinner?”, Cas is happy to hop off his perch.

“Wait, wait! Help me down, _Christ_ _,_ I’m not the one who’s a regular up here,” Dean yelps as he loses his his balance slightly while trying to stand up to step off too. Cas grabs his hand when Dean says softer, “Don’t let me fall, dude.”

Cas tightens his grip as Dean jumps down to solidity of the roof with a huff. “I wouldn’t fathom it,” he says.

Safe from ledges and other dangerous spaces for now, Cas doesn’t let go. The sun is still hidden behind the clouds but Dean’s smile is blinding as he laughs and says, “God your hands are freezing too,” as if the fact is something wonderful.

Maybe it is, although Cas thinks as he smiles back that the more amazing thing is how fast his hands warm up when laced with Dean’s.

All in all, May 15th, 2014 passes without much fanfare, but for Cas, the fact that it passes is event enough. By the next morning his body is buzzing with a different kind of remembering, and as he presses a kiss to Dean’s naked shoulder, he concludes contentedly that this has to have been the best place he could have landed.

 


End file.
